


the language of flowers

by helenblackthorn



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16721115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenblackthorn/pseuds/helenblackthorn
Summary: "The woman raised her chin, hardly at all, her expression shifting with a touch of confidence that was clear by the look in her eyes alone. She plucked two pink geraniums by the stem from the bouquet and unexpectedly extended them out for Helen to take. “For you,” she said with a wink, and was gone through the shop doors before Helen could react appropriately.Caught by surprise, Helen could do little else but stare down at the flowers between her hands in silence.Oh."or; the one where Helen works at her aunt's flower shop and Aline has a gay crisis.





	the language of flowers

It started as a way to put herself through college.

Having decided to spend two semesters studying abroad in Rome, Helen needed a steady income upon returning to Los Angeles if she wanted an apartment of her own in the near future.

Los Angeles was long ago proclaimed as the supernatural epicentre of the American west coast, New York falling just behind on the east. Still, faerie’s in the area was scarce - with all the iron in the city, many became too ill to stay for very long, and they weren’t exactly welcomed with open arms by some mundane communities despite how progressive they claimed they were - and as such, employers tended to be reluctant to hire them. Even as a half-faerie, Helen had a hard time finding a reliable business that would take her into consideration.

Her Aunt Nene however, flighty as she was on any normal occasion, had ultimately chosen to remain in a place where Helen’s own mother, Nene’s sister, could not. And, as a result, opened  _The Day Court_  - a place where she could remain with nature while still immersing herself into mundane culture without the fear of becoming sick.

But, as it was with many businesses, Nene could not do it alone. Flowers were a high demand product, especially those that had come from Faerie, and she struggled to maintain her shop by herself.

That was where Helen and Mark stepped in.

It was work, and it was demanding at times, but Helen enjoyed being surrounded by floristry; eventually becoming well versed in the language of flowers despite not necessarily needing to.

She felt…in her element, here.

It was slow that morning, which was a welcome change of pace compared to their usual. Valentine’s Day had just passed and after being worked half to death for the past few weeks they were finally merging into their ‘dead period.’ Sales would really pick up again around Mother’s day, likely even sooner, but for now Helen was grateful for the quiet, even if working with just her brother sometimes drove her crazy.

Mark was already putting together a bouquet of white* and magenta zinnia’s the minute one of their regulars, a young man they knew by name as Will, walked through the shop doors. He came every Wednesday and Friday afternoon with the same precise order - sometimes, if he was in a hurry, he would have them delivered to the local hospital - for the past month and a half.

And on each and every card, he wrote in fine script:  _To James. With Love, William._

Whoever James was, Helen hoped that he would be well soon. It was dispiriting to think that most of their flowers decorated the bedside tables in hospital rooms, or more commonly, cemeteries and funeral homes, although that was just the sad reality of floristry. She was, after all, on a first-name basis with many of the more local funeral directors.

Will smiled politely at the two of them, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his peacoat. He watched as Mark carefully assembled the bouquet the same way he always did. “Have I become that predictable?”

“Only a little,” said Mark lightly, hands full of zinnia’s.

Helen leaned her hip against the counter and only grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. “How is Jem doing?”

“Better,” said Will. Helen did notice he seemed in good spirits. “Actually, better than better. We’re looking at best case scenario, now. With luck, he will be released from hospital by the end of the week and we can take a trip back to England. I believe he’s missing it, right about now.”

Mark took that as an open opportunity to bore Will with extensive details of how he would like to study abroad in Wales when he went off to college at the end of summer.

The bell above the shop doors rang, indicating the arrival of another customer. Helen diverted her attention from their mostly one-sided conversation, ready to assist whoever it was, when she saw a young woman peering curiously around the stores interior. She was about Helen’s age, with dark black hair that fell to her shoulders and distinct Asian features. Helen’s breath hitched when their eyes met - she was beautiful, that much was certain, her almond shaped eyes a warm brown that reminded Helen of autumn.

After a moment of hesitation, the girl approached the counter and cleared her throat. “Hey,” she said simply.

“Hi,” Helen responded, unable to resist a small smile. “What can I help you with?”

“Flowers,” the girl blurted out suddenly, and then backtracked just as quickly, stumbling over her words with clear embarrassment. “I, um - I just need some flowers.”

“Well, you came to the right place,” Helen said casually, deciding not to acknowledge the word-fumble out loud, no matter how endearing she thought it may have been. “Any special occasion? Or, special someone…?”

“No, to both questions,” the girl said earnestly, but no matter how quick she was to answer, she seemed to compose herself by setting her shoulders back. “My mother’s law firm just got an expansion from New York City to L.A. I wanted to get something to welcome her since I’ve been here for school, and it looks great but I think her office could use some colour to it.”

“So, a congratulations and a little office decor all in one?”

The girl’s dark eyes lit up with a pleasant smile. “Yeah, exactly,” she said. “If that’s possible.”

“It’s possible,” Helen assured, moving swiftly from behind the counter and gesturing for the girl to follow her. “The first thought that comes to mind is geranium flowers. Have you heard of them?”

“I hardly know anything about flowers. I don’t have much of a green thumb,” she said. She startled minutely when she saw a small group of sprites and pixies, white specks of shining light, buzzing with indecipherable chatter above her, tending to the flowers in hanging baskets. Helen suppressed a laugh (many humans had the same reaction) and lead her forward to the far left side of the shop. “Okay, understatement. I don’t have one at all.”

“I appreciate the honesty,” Helen laughed. Her fingertips brushed featherlight against the underside of a pink geranium petal. At this time of year, there weren’t many remaining. “So, geraniums make good housewarming gifts, or to give to someone who’s been promoted. They’re mostly ornamental if you’re not particular about meanings. What do you think?”

“Oh, wow,” the girl said, leaning to take a closer look. Helen bit her bottom lip and watched her dark eyes scan over the variety of colours with a great interest. “These are beautiful.”

“They are,” Helen agreed. “These and azalea’s are actually my favourite flowers. They’re also pretty easy to care for, which is good for someone who’s busy running a law firm and won’t have a lot of time on her hands.”

The other girl straightened up, fixing her with a determined stare. Helen admired the way this woman seemed to carry herself as though she was the same height as everyone else, despite being a few inches shorter than Helen herself. She could not help but be attracted to that kind of confidence. “Well, I trust your judgement,” she said. “I’ll take them.”

After discussing how many she would like, Helen cut the geraniums - pink, red and white as was requested - and lead the girl back over to the counter, where she began to arrange and wrap them into a bouquet, taking care to make it as beautiful as she could. Helen could feel the girls eyes on her as she worked, watching the thorough movements of her hands, and tried to squash the sudden flutter of anxiety in her chest enough to focus.

Once Helen was done, the girl stepped up to pay. “Thank you for your help,” she said, appearing unconcerned with the price as she stuck her card into the pin pad. “I’d be hopelessly lost in here without it.”

“My pleasure,” Helen said with a small laugh, and not only out of sale formality. “I hope your mother likes them.”

“I’m sure she will,” she mused, signing the screen with an casual swirl of the stylus. She took the arrangement, and held it close to her chest. “You said these were one of your favourites?”

The corner of Helen’s mouth lifted with a soft grin. “I did.”

The woman raised her chin, hardly at all, her expression shifting with a touch of confidence that was clear by the look in her eyes alone. She plucked two pink geraniums by the stem from the bouquet and unexpectedly extended them out for Helen to take. “For you,” she said with a wink, and was gone through the shop doors before Helen could react appropriately.

Caught by surprise, Helen could do little else but stare down at the flowers between her hands in silence.

_Oh._

Mark, who’d busied himself with another customer’s arrangement somewhere to her left, glanced sidelong at her with an all-knowing smirk. “You’re blushing, you know.”

Helen cleared her throat and turned away so she would not have to see the insufferable grin on his face - and so that he could not see the smile that had made its way onto hers. “Shut up, Mark.”

.

.

After Aline had successfully dropped the geraniums off at her mother’s office, she sought Alec out at the café near their college that they often frequented together. After he’d left their shared on campus apartment with his Criminal Law textbook and pair of earphones, Aline had no doubt that was where he would be spending his afternoon.

They’d become friends in a matter of weeks after the partnership was secured between her mother and his father’s law practice, when Aline was eight years old - with how close their parents were, it would have been hard for Aline not to get to know the Lightwood’s kids, especially considering she and Alec were the same age, Isabelle falling just two years behind them. They’d gone through middle and high school together, inseparable since the start.

Luckily enough, life had turned in such a way that both Alec and Aline were accepted into the same university. It made the move from Manhattan to Los Angeles considerably less intimidating with her best friend at her side.

If she could trust anyone with this, it was going to be him.

Upon finding him, Aline stopped short at his table and blurted out before he noticed her: “I have a huge problem.”

So preoccupied with his studies, Alec twitched in surprise at the sound of her voice, nearly spilling his cup of coffee all over his laptop. Aline couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him so frazzled besides finals week. He composed himself quickly, though looked more surprised to see her than concerned about her proclamation. “What kind of problem?” He asked. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Aline deadpanned. She pulled out the empty seat across from him and sat down, setting her bag on the floor beside her. “I stopped at the florists earlier today and picked up some geraniums for Mom.”

“Don’t tell me you sent your own mother into anaphylactic shock.”

“What? No, she’s fine.” Aline waved her hand dismissively and pointedly continued. “Like I was saying, it was this faerie run shop by Venice beach called  _The Day Court_. I walked in, and there was this - this girl. Alec, I don’t think I could describe to you how beautiful this girl was. I mean, I know faeries usually are, but she was like, ethereal or something. When she started talking to me it was like I forgot how to speak English. That’s my problem. It’s a gay problem. A blonde haired, pointy-eared problem.”

Alec’s eyebrows came close to meeting his hairline. He’d begun stowing away his belongings while she was explaining, stuffing his notes into his folder and placing his laptop in his bag, though had paused mid-way. “Wow,” he said. “Did you get her number?”

“No, but after she helped me find something for Mom I gave her two flowers and ran out of there before she could say anything.”

“You should go back and talk to her,” he insisted. “Leap of faith, as Jace would say. You told me you wanted to start dating - here’s your chance to put yourself out there.”

“I don’t want to look desperate,” Aline said, trying to be the voice of reason behind Alec’s awkward attempt at being optimistic for the first time in his life. “I probably freaked her out when I gave her those flowers, because I’m an impulsive buffoon. She’s probably dating someone already: people that pretty are never single. Or worse, she’s  _straight_ , and I can never show my face there again.”

Alec rolled his eyes, taking a generous sip of his coffee as though his conversation with her was costing him too much energy. “Look, I don’t want to generalize, but I think most faeries tend to be fluid with their sexuality. Besides, you’ll never know unless you actually go and talk to this girl. If I could do it when I met Magnus, you can too.”

“She’s out of my league.”

Alec pulled a face as if she personally offended him. “Aline, you’re being crazy. You’re a catch. A steal.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. What’s in there, anyway?” Aline asked, gesturing to his cup to defer the conversation away from her. “Did you get an extra shot of something? Optimism?* Determination? If so, I could use some.”

“Get your own,” Alec said defiantly, rising to his feet. He slung his bag over his shoulder, cup in hand. “It’s only seventy-five cents more.”

She sighed and bid him goodbye as he left for his afternoon class, leaning back into the chair to wallow in her own misery.

Aline did not go back to  _The Day Court._  In fact, one full week passed by before she worked up the courage to return.

Just as she had hoped for, the girl was working that Wednesday afternoon. She was standing behind the counter, talking with two younger girls; the one with the rounder face looked about nine or ten years old, the other with more gangly limbs about eleven or twelve.

Like the last time Aline had seen her, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, although some wisps of blonde fringe had managed to come loose and delicately frame her face, the pointed tips of her ears in full view. The bell above the door rang as she opened it, and Aline swallowed when all three of the girls glanced over to her. They all had the same blue-green eyes, although the two youngest had round ears like Aline’s own, rather than pointed ones.

The blonde’s mouth lifted into a sweet smile, and Aline felt on the verge of a nosebleed.

“Liv, Dru, go see if Mark needs any help,” the girl told the two preteens, and she watched them take off toward the back room before her gaze returned to Aline’s. “You’re back.”

“Hey,” Aline said lamely, rooted in place. “Yeah, I’m back.”

“Hi,” said the girl, smiling softly still; Aline hadn’t noticed the indent of a dimple on her left cheek the last time they’d spoken. “I never got to thank you for the flowers. That was very thoughtful of you.”

 _Fuck it_ , she thought,  _she’s cute, I’m cute, I got this._

She forced back a swell of nerves building in her stomach and stepped further into the shop, offering Dimples a bold grin in its place. Normally, Aline was all about confidence - she radiated it, and wanted it to be known to others - yet she was still standing there, starstruck by a pretty girl. “It was kind of silly, now that I think about it. I bought them from you.”

“The gesture was still sweet, though. Thank you,” the girl said. She appeared sincere. “How did your mother like the geraniums?”

“Oh, she loved them,” Aline responded as nonchalantly as she could manage, her hands finding home in her jacket pockets. “She told me to send her thanks to whoever picked them out for me because she knew I’d never be able to decide on my own.”

Dimples laughed. It sounded real; it sounded like music. “My name is Helen.”

“Helen.” Aline tested the name out on her tongue; it sounded like a soft breath. “Well, thank you, Helen. From my mother and from me.”

“You’re welcome…?” She trailed off expectantly.

“Aline.”

“You’re very welcome, Aline,” Helen said, and Aline found herself hanging onto the way her name sounded in Helen’s mouth. She hadn’t moved from behind the counter, but her body language seemed to shift. She appeared more comfortable than she was before, lighter, if it were possible.

Around her, the shop was particularly empty, with the exception of the few pixies around the hanging baskets. There were some new colourful flowers in left corner where the geraniums used to be; she thought they might have been from Faerie, given that she’d never seen them before, and they held a certain mystical aura about them. It felt open, inviting, the air much smoother surrounded by the floristry than the Los Angeles air. Despite it’s almost otherworldly feel, Aline did not fail to notice the modern pop music playing quietly in the background.

Before Aline could say much else, preoccupied with observing the newest additions, Helen spoke again. “Amazing, aren’t they?” She asked. Her eyes brightened. “My aunt Nene brought them back with her from the Seelie court on Monday. She wasn’t sure how they’d survive in the city, but they seem to be thriving.”

“They are,” Aline said. “You’re pretty passionate about flowers, huh?”

Helen shrugged, leaning against the counter. “It’s hard not to be, when you’re surrounded by them all the time. I can think of worse things to be passionate about.” She tilted her head, her ponytail swaying behind her.

She hummed her agreement, making her way over to them. She was hesitant to reach out to touch one, as if it would crumble beneath her fingers, but did anyway. They were soft, leaving a thin layer of powder on her fingertips. “Tell me about them?” Aline insisted, genuinely curious.

Helen did, and Aline ended up purchasing thirteen of them, despite how expensive they ended up being after arrangement was finished.

She left with eleven.

After, it became something of a routine. Aline would come to the shop every Wednesday for the next month to purchase a new arrangement, sometimes stopping by on Saturdays if she had time. She would leave with two less than she purchased every single time - the others, she would keep until they died, or she would press them in a journal to use for reference when she was drawing. Every time, Aline and Helen would talk longer than the last, and Helen’s smile was worth Alec’s complaints that their apartment was turning into a forest.

Mid-April, Aline purchased a bouquet of red roses. This time, however, she requested a small card with it. On it, she wrote:

_The curves of your lips rewrite history. The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold._

Aline took one of the red roses from the arrangement before presenting the remaining seven to Helen, the small card dangling from the intricately done bow. She watched with bated breath as Helen’s cheeks flushed pink, her eyes scanning over the writing.

When she glanced up, Helen looked impressed. “Oscar Wilde.”

Aline simply smirked. “I have my passions too, you know.”

Helen held the bouquet of roses to her chest. “You should tell me more about your passions,” she said. “Since you always hear about mine. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah, it is,” Aline agreed. She breathed deep through her nose to calm the butterflies and steeled herself, straightening her back. She’d been nervous since the moment she walked through the shop doors, a feeling she hadn’t felt since the very beginning. “How would you like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Helen smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> *I’m pretty sure white zinnia’s are mostly used in wedding bouquets, but I chose them because they were on Jem’s flower card. also added in magenta zinnia’s because they represent lasting affection.
> 
> *Alec’s “optimism coffee” is based off of a tumblr post about witches running coffee shops
> 
> *azaleas are one of my favourite flowers and I found out when writing this that if you put them in a black vase and send them to someone it’s a death threat. I don’t know what to do with that information.


End file.
